In a country house with the windows lit by burning wicks And the walls held up by wood and bricks and ghosts that wander through An old man died, but the help won’t come till monday next And he’s gone to meet the architects of the only world he knew
And he’s lonesome
And the family mourned, at the wake he lay in front of them Just as silent as he’d ever been to any young child’s eyes And by buried skin, they shed their laughter and their tears The pain of all those early years where innocence had died
But now they’re lonesome
Memorials that we may build They won’t the holes forever fill There is a deep and aching chill That settles in our bones
’Cause we’re lonesome
Did you ever love somebody? Did you ever lose someone?
